“It’s time,” he insists, lifting a hand to his face and rubbing the stubble across his cheek. He glances at me from his peripheral vision. Those two words are the bane of my existence. Whenever Dad says them, it means we’ve reached the end. Whatever problem we’ve been nursing is about to get a big slap of reality, and there is no escaping it.
He drives for another ten minutes before turning down a single-lane dirt road. He’s heading to his spot by the river. The spot he’s spent many of his Sundays in ‘church’ with the man upstairs. The single-room cabin comes into view. He stops the truck, shuts the engine off, and gets out of the cab. All without saying another word. Dad disappears down the walking path headed toward the river. He knows I’ll soon follow behind, but I take a moment trying to prepare myself for the emotions I’ll soon be facing.
I climb out of the truck and follow the pathway.
Dad is sitting in one of two Adirondack chairs on the handmade dock. We built this dock one summer when I was in high school. Callum, Max, and I loved making something we planned on using for many fishing seasons. His hands are folded in his lap, his eyes watching the water flow downstream. I sit in the chair next to him and wait.
Moments pass, and I relax further and further into my chair as the second stick by. My determination to prove him wrong dies. I give in to the words spoken to me in the truck. My father is right. It’s time.
“It’s my fault.” My confession falls from my lips like a plea.
“It is?” he asks.
“The attack. Their deaths. Preacher. Tango. Frankie. The team’s injuries. Max’s leg. All of it. It’s my fault.”
He grows quiet, gently rubbing his hand across his mouth. His brow is furrowed as though he’s contemplating the best words to use.
“Tell me I’m wrong.”
“You’re wrong,” he murmurs and turns to face me. The honesty burning in his eyes makes me swallow hard. “They knew what they were getting themselves into the moment they signed their name on the dotted line. They were soldiers. Sometimes soldiers get hurt. Sometimes soldiers die.”
“No. That can’t be right.”
“I’m not saying their lives don’t matter. I’m not brushing their sacrifices off. I know what it’s like to lose good men for shitty reasons. But I’ll be damned if I let you think for one second longer that this is your fault.”
“It is my fault.” I lean forward and bury my face in my hands. “I had the chance to change things, to make it safer, and I didn’t.”
“You made a bad judgment call.”
“A judgment call that got them killed,” I holler, my gut churning with emotion. I want to believe him. Desperately. But doing that gives me an out I don’t deserve. He sits forward; his hand grips my forearm, hard, pulling my attention to him.
“Listen to me. You did not give the orders to ambush the team. You did not pull the trigger, killing your men. You did what you were trained to do. Follow orders. Your men did what they were trained to do. Follow orders.”
“Yes, they did follow orders, but it was my job to make sure they made it back to camp safe and sound. It was my job to consider my second’s advice, a man I never doubted until that day, and for selfish reasons. No matter what you say, it all points back to me. Maybe I didn’t pull the trigger, but I put them in the crosshairs,” I yell at him, yanking away from his touch.
My father sits back in his chair and takes a breath. He looks off at the water again. I know I’ve killed his argument. I expect him to retreat now. To leave me be. I am wrong.
“I know you feel responsible for their deaths. It’s normal. It’s how you’re dealing with it that has your mother and me concerned,” he says softly, back to rubbing his cheeks.
“I’m dealing with it just fine,” I argue.
“You’re not dealing with it at all. You’re ignoring it, and you’re killing yourself in the process. You need to talk to someone.”
“I am. I’m talking to you.”
“You know this isn’t what I meant.” I did know it. He wants me to speak with a professional. A head shrink. “I’ve been in your shoes, and I talked to someone.”
“You did?”
“Your mother came home early one day and walked into the room to find me with the barrel of a gun down my throat.”
I snap my head to him, almost giving myself whiplash. My brain goes into overdrive as I scour my memories trying to pinpoint the moment he’s talking about.
“I didn’t want to breathe anymore.” He pauses a moment before taking a deep breath, transfixed on the scenery ahead. I’ve never heard my dad speak of anything that happened to him while he served. He’s always been private of those memories. I’m finally beginning to understand why.
“Dad—”
“The attack was brutal. There were six of us, surrounded on all sides because I made the decision to put us in that specific spot. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought we’d be safe until backup arrived. I was wrong, and it cost me four lives, five if you count Whitey’s suicide months later. Men I knew nearly my entire military career.” The confidence in his voice, the unwavering affect, I’m baffled by it. “I came home fucked up. I wanted nothing to do with my wife or my children. I spent days and nights trying to make sense of it, trying to understand why my life was spared. I wanted to die, to quit breathing, to permanently squash the feelings I had inside. Your mother came home early from work. I wasn’t expecting her for hours. I planned to kill myself, but she walked into the room before I could pull the trigger.”
“Dad—”
“I’ve been where you are, Kingston. You may not have the gun barrel in your mouth, but you’re not far from it. I refuse to let that happen.”
“I’m not going to—”
“Tell me you haven’t thought about it at least once a day, Kingston.” I say nothing, because if I open my mouth, I’ll be lying, and I don’t lie to my father. “You need to work through this.”
I take a deep breath, letting his words fall over me. I let myself feel them and embrace them. Hearing my father admit to his weaknesses and his attempt to end his own life flips a switch inside me. I lean back into my seat and exhale, feeling lighter in my chest. “You’re right. I’ll find someone to talk to.”
“Before we leave, this woman your mother told me about. Is she the one?” His question throws me for a loop, and I’m not sure how to answer him. Am I ready to talk about her?
“She is, but I fucked it up. When all this shit happened, I walked away, broke her heart in the process. ”The memory of seeing her collapse to the sidewalk as I pull away haunts me every day.
“You love her?”
“I still do. Not that it matters. She’ll never forgive me for hurting her.”
“She love you?”
“Four months ago, the answer would have been yes. Now, I’m not sure.”
“You’re not sure?”
“We never got a chance to say it. She hinted toward it. I hinted toward it. But it didn’t feel right saying something so important in a letter,” I explain, amazed at how easy it is to speak with my dad about her.
“Doesn’t matter how you say it, as long as you say it.” His dark eyes settle on me, and I feel the sincerity of his words. He is right, of course. “Don’t hold back your feelings, especially with those you love. You never know when it might be the last time you say them.”
“A lesson I learned a little too late,” I breathe, hearing the message under the wisdom he’s sharing with me. What something happened to me that day? She would have walked through the rest of her life never knowing my true feelings for her.
“You’re never too old for a lesson learned. Find a way to fix it,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. He says nothing more, letting the silence settle around us. Only the trickle of the water passing by and the occasional croak of a frog fill the air.
I sit back in my chair and let the revelation of his words take me. Breathing in, my heart no longer feels as
heavy. I’m still not okay, but what my dad gave me today was exactly what I needed. The first step to facing what I’ve been battling, to learning how to forgive myself.
As much as I want to jump on the first plane to Oregon and claim my girl, I know I’m nowhere near the state of mind I need to be in to do it. I just hope when it’s time, she’ll give me the chance to make it alright.
Chapter Six
His Return
Kingston
Two Months Later
I stand in front of the rustic cabin’s red door and take a deep breath. It’s been six months since I’ve seen or spoken to Hudson. I’m not sure how he’ll react to me being here. I’d be more confident in my position if I hadn’t left his sister heartbroken and sobbing on the sidewalk. I hope he understands enough to hear me out, but I know I blindsided him. He wouldn’t have let me see her if he’d known what I was planning to do. I didn’t tell him, because I didn’t want him to stop me.
The door swings open before I can do anything, like knock, and Hudson stands in front of me. His arms are folded against his chest and his eyes are like steel, hard and unforgiving. I stare at him, unable to speak, because I’m waiting for him to pummel my ass.
“Are you planning on standing out here all day?” he asks with a distant voice. He isn’t too happy to see me, and for a moment I regret my decision. Until I see a flicker of relief in his eyes. Relief to see me alive.
“No,” is the only word I can muster as I continue to stare at him. I have an entire book of things I want to say to him, but my ability to form any words fail me.
“You look like shit.” He frowns, and I know he’s isn’t lying. I might have started talking to someone for help, but I haven’t given up the amount of running I’ve been doing. A lot of the bulk I’d been proud of is gone. My body now has a leaner look, one of a runner.
“I feel like shit,” I respond carefully.
He eyes me once more before stepping aside, allowing me entry into his home. I quickly move past him, hoping I can take this as a good sign. “I haven’t heard from you in six months.”
“I know.”
“Because of my sister?”
I shake my head and look anywhere but at him. My stomach clenches and my chest aches from the mere mention of her. “No, it wasn’t because of her.”
“Thought we were friends. Brothers even.”
“We are—”
“Brothers don’t disappear for six months.”
“Didn’t know what else to do.” I shrug, surprised at my honesty. I’ve always been this way with him, though. We’ve never judged each other for our past, but the fact that I’ve spent the last two months attending intense therapy sessions isn’t something I want to advertise, though I’m working on honesty and expressing myself. “But I’m working on it.”
“Hope you’re not here for the reasons I think you are.” He eyes me carefully. This is the second time he’s mentioned her, and just like the first time, my heart pounds heavily in my chest. I swallow hard before answering. “Cause if you are, man, I got to tell you, you’re barking up the wrong tree. I’m not going to let you hurt her again.”
“I’m not, but I understand the warning.”
“How’s Max?”
“Making progress. Taking it better than I am.”
He turns and walks toward his kitchen. I follow nervously behind him. My mind shifts, and I wonder if she’s been here today for her coffee fix. Simply being in the same room she once stood in does something to my body, and I feel six months of tension begin to diminish.
“Want some coffee?” Hudson’s asks, pulling me from my thoughts. I nod, my eyes settling on the monstrous dining room table tucked into the corner. “Like it?”
“You made this?” I ask walking toward it. My large hand runs across the top of the smooth wooden surface, and I remember the moment Hudson joked about making a table large enough to fit the entire team for Thanksgiving. I smile, enjoying the good memory, refusing to think about the faces I’ll never see sitting across from me during that dinner.
“Don’t look so surprised.” He chuckles. I can’t help it, though. Seeing the table, being in his home, this close to the life I walked away from six months ago, I’m feeling lighter as each moment passes.
“I guess you have to do something to pass the time.”
“Yes, ‘cause the job as professional badass was already taken. ”He laughs louder and crosses the room to hand me a large black mug. He motions for me to sit, but I hesitate. “You got somewhere else to be?”
I shake my head and take a seat. He sits across from me, and both of us study the contents of our mugs, unsure of what to say to one another. It’s quiet between us. Too quiet.
“Why are you here, Kingston?” he asks, breaking the silence.
“Job offer.”
“In Portland?”
“No, here,” I answer. He cocks his head, and I watch as the questions cross his face, but he keeps silent. “I’ve been in contact with some people, some higher-ups looking to hire a private security company. My name was mentioned.”
“Private security for the military?
“Not just military,” I explain. “Private contracts with various law enforcement and government agencies. A lot of undercover work. Stateside and overseas.”
“You want to open up shop here?” He lifts his eyebrows.
“I want you to partner with me and get things started.” I level with him. “I’d like to bring the guys in for this, too. Offer them a spot.”
I’ve been out of touch for months, too long, but I know Hudson. He’s kept his ear to the ground when it comes to the rest of the team. He stares down at the table as if he’s contemplating my words. As Preacher’s best friend, he naturally took on his role.
“I don’t want to be your partner.” The words punch a hole in my chest. I can’t blame him, though. I let my last partner down in a big way. Everything I’ve been working on the last two months during therapy suddenly feels null and void as the guilt I’ve been trying to let go of settles into my chest.
I feel his eyes on me, but I can’t look up, afraid he might see the hell I’m battling. He doesn’t say anything, either. My hope for this new beginning is wavering.
“Okay,” I murmur, swallowing hard. I’m not sure what I can do at this point, but I know there’s nothing I can say to change his mind. It was a risk coming here, asking this of him. There was a chance he might say no, but in all honesty, I didn’t prepare for it. “I understand.”
“I won’t be your partner, but I’ll work for you.” I look up at him and swallow hard, the meaning behind his words buzzing around me. Despite everything, he’s telling me he trusts me to lead him. “They will, too.”
They being the rest of the team. I feel a multitude of things, all of which leave me speechless. The shame disappears from my body, and I realize my father was right. None of them blame me for what happened. Otherwise, they wouldn’t stand behind me as easily as Hudson says they will.
“We follow our leader.” His eyes pin me, and I feel the meaning of those four words. Trust. Loyalty. Respect. Commitment. Understanding. Love.
I nod, trying to hold back the wave of emotions choking me. My fuck-up might not be forgivable to me, but it is clear where they stand. Behind me.
The sound of keys jingling in the door freezes my blood. I watch as his eyes fly to the doorway behind me and he tenses. There’s only one person who’d make his face pale like it does.
My stomach sinks, and I realize I’m not ready for this part. I’m not ready to face her.
Missy
The red luxury sedan has me frowning as I pull into Hudson’s driveway. I don’t remember him telling me he was going to have visitors. Then again, he never tells me anything these days.
It’s possible someone from the team is here. He hasn’t spoken about them since he returned from burying Tango, Frankie, and Preacher. That was a week of hell. It ended with Hudson being so drunk he almost landed himsel
f in the hospital from alcohol poisoning. Thankfully, I was able to stop him in time and nurse him back to sobriety. I’ve taken care of him ever since, despite his constant bitching at me.
I slide my key into the front door and push it open. I’m met with quiet.
“Hudson?” I call out, alerting him to my presence. It’s completely possible his visitor isn’t a friend but rather some random hook-up. I don’t want to walk in on something I can’t unsee.
Tucking my keys into my purse, I hang it up on the coat rack beside me, trying to waste time. I get no response. Maybe he’s still sleeping?
No, I smell fresh coffee, and he doesn’t set the timer like normal people. I walk toward the kitchen.
“Hudson, you better get your ass out here before I devour your whole pot of coffee.” I walk through the doorway into the kitchen and see Hudson sitting at the dining room table he made. He is so damn proud of that thing. I smirk briefly before meeting his eyes with my own. “After the night I had, I need some caffeine. Please tell me…”
My words trail off, because the look on his face, his wide eyes, and tense body cause me to stop in the middle of the room. My stomach knots instantly, and I notice the large figure sitting across from him out of the corner of my eye. I can’t tear my gaze away from Hudson out of fear, an emotion that causes every nerve in my body to switch to alert mode. I search my brother’s worried face as the tension in the room nearly chokes me. My thoughts fly in a thousand different directions, since I can’t seem to understand what is happening around me.
As if he’s reading my thoughts, his eyes flick to the person across from him, and I follow them. My eyes stop on his guest, and for a moment I think I’m seeing things. I blink repeatedly, but the shock of seeing him strikes my heart dead center, causing it to falter and skip a few beats.
“Hi, Queenie.” His voice fills the silent void, and it takes everything in me to keep from running out of the house. He’s the last person I expected to see sitting in my brother’s kitchen. I was sure they hadn’t spoken since the day he walked away, but it’s obvious my assumption was wrong.
Lost Without You (The Lost Series Book 2) Page 4
